


Wrong Exit

by damnslippyplanet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Nothing Here But Fluff And Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/pseuds/damnslippyplanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere post-Aperitivo and pre-Dolce, Alana and Margot meet up in the stables again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Exit

Alana's known what Margot's interest in her was from that first day in the stable. Of course she has. Margot isn't subtle, and Alana hasn't been a blushing virgin for a very long time. If it took a couple of weeks for either of them to do anything about it, it wasn't for lack of interest, but for the pleasure of the long game. The glance, the casual touch, the innuendo. The knowing, and not doing. Not doing _yet_.

She hadn't, however, expected the stable to also be where the game ended. And yet, she can't say that's a problem.

Pressed between the cool unyielding wall behind her and Margot warm and satisfingly yielding pressing her against it, no, Alana can't say this is a problem at all. The only real problem is that holding on to her cane to stay upright only leaves her the one free hand.

She'll make it work. Alana Bloom always got high marks for diligence and for applying herself thoroughly to her chosen fields of study. And Margot Verger might make an excellent field of study, as long as Alana doesn't let herself get so carried away she forgets the real reason she's here.

With one hand you can still touch and unravel a braid of dark hair, you can tug it just _so_ to tilt a head back and you can drink down the small resulting gasp along with the kisses you were already stealing. With one hand you can still unbutton, only why, why are there so _many_ buttons? Does horse riding really require all these layers? She'll have to ask about that. Later.

With one hand you can touch the curve of a cheek, with one hand you can gesture vaguely toward the door, and you don't need any hands at all to laugh breathlessly when the response is "Locked it when we came in." 

One hand is enough, until it's not.

Although she thinks she knows the answer already, Alana does pause for a moment, to catch her breath and to enjoy the sight of the mess she's made of Margot's hair and to ask, "The house?"

Margot's lips compress into a thin hard line and she shakes her head. "Mason."

Alana could point out that Margot's room is far from Mason's, as far as it's possible to get in that giant empty house. She could insist. She doesn't think Margot would deny her. But she has her suspicions about Margot's childhood and Margot's brother, and that's a conversation for another day. This, here, is enough. Or it will be in a minute, when she's rid of the damnable cane.

"Okay. Here, then." She keeps her voice low, gentle, soothing - it's not unlike the voice Margot uses on the horses. 

Margot's eyes uncloud and she comes back to Alana, her sweet, wicked smile returning as she whispers, "Just a minute."

There's a rustle and Margot returns with a blanket, spreading it over a thick pile of clean, fresh hay. It's not going to be the most comfortable place Alana's ever done this. She finds she doesn't care.

She lets Margot draw her down and she lets the cane go and she lets her job as Mason's psychiatrist go and she lets everything go that isn't _this_. Soft whinnying sounds of the horses in their stalls, smells of fresh hay and clean sun-warmed Margot, half-light from the small high-up windows.

It comes to her that this dark, lonesome building is Margot's sanctuary. The same way Will's isolated cabin was his, the way Bella was Jack's, the way even Hannibal Lecter had his kitchen and his monstrous basement. Alana herself has never really had a sanctuary. She has a house. It's clean, and pretty, and soulless. It doesn't hold anything of her.

She wonders for a brief dizzy moment if the reason she's never had a sanctuary of her own was that she already had one, out there in the world, and just didn't know where to go looking for it until she stumbled into it. She marvels at the sheer dumb luck of overshooting her exit and having to take the service road that led past the stables.

It's too much to think about and for once in her overanalytical life, Alana doesn't feel like thinking. She works the remaining buttons, she lets Margot explore each inch of skin as fast as she can reveal it, and she tries not to wonder what Margot is thinking about all the scars. No one's seen her like this since the fall. No one but endless nurses and surgeons and physical therapists who pieced her back together over weeks and months. No one who traced the lines of her body with such soft touches, such hot breath, such naked wanting. 

Margot's hesitation is only for a moment, a hint of worry as she asks, "Are you still in pain? Do I need to know anything so I don't hurt you?"

Alana shakes her head, bites her lip, reaches, falls. "I don't think so. I haven't done this since it happened. I'll tell you if something hurts. We'll tell each other. Okay?"

"Okay." And there's the worry gone and the glint in Margot's eyes back, and Alana thinks, _oh_. Oh, _here_ you are. I've been _looking_ for you.

She touches Margot with both hands, finally, and she thinks that maybe she'll just stay right here forever. Maybe she's been wrong all along about what she was looking for here at the Verger estate. Maybe that missed exit was never a mistake at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This week is, apparently, short snippets of feelings week here at [Damnslippyplanet Industries](http://damnslippyplanet.tumblr.com).


End file.
